


Fire Meet Gasoline

by xenowhore



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sex, F/M, frank loves dogs, franks hovel needs a womans touch, karen is really smart but sometimes she makes silly decisions, they have the sexy time, wound cleaning trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenowhore/pseuds/xenowhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then, insanely, it was nearing midnight and Karen was standing in Frank Castle’s bathroom looking at herself in the chipped mirror. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else (it nearly came down to her knees) her blouse and pantyhose folded neatly on the counter, hair undone and falling in thick waves around her shoulders. She’d have raccoon eyes in the morning, no makeup remover here - soap was too harsh for her sensitive skin - but somehow she didn’t care. She didn’t care that her legs were so startlingly pale, that she didn’t have a toothbrush. These things seemed trivial when she considered that in moments, she’d be sliding between sheets that cradled a killer every night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like most of you, I power-watched season 2 of Daredevil in two days and could give absolutely zero fucks about anything else except for Kastle. Matt who? Their chemistry was incredible and I was instantly hooked. I hope you guys like this! If you wanna come join me in Shipper Hell I'm on the tumblr machine: tumblr.com/blog/xenowhore

Karen Page had told herself that she was done with Frank Castle. In fact, her exact parting words had been; “You’re dead to me.”

She heard those words echoed back to herself at odd times of the day, accompanied by the ghostly sensation of kneeling on wet asphalt in the dark, her face tear-streaked. She heard them while brushing her teeth, refilling her coffee. She heard them and she wanted to take them back - reach up and clamp her hands over her mouth - because the answer to them caused unbearable pain. _“No, wait.”_ She wanted to say. _“you’re not dead, you’re not. Come back.”_

Judge, jury, executioner.

As of late her life was a series of stressful and often terrifying events that seemed hell bent on outdoing the other, events that left her traumatized and nursing a bottle of something expensive that burned at the back of her throat. She didn’t need any more gunfire, any more mysteries to keep her awake at night and slow to answer social niceties. What she needed was a year's worth of sleep. The dreamless kind.

If only. But it was never dreamless. He was always there, always, teetering at the edge of sleep in curling black shadows. A barrel chest with Death’s visage flickering through the bursts of flashfire, tormented eyes illuminated with each flash. The steady clink of spent casings hitting asphalt the soundtrack to these nightmares. Sometimes he was dead, sometimes he was smiling at her from a battered mess of a face, brown eyes soft under the brim of a ballcap.

Eyes she wanted to slide her fingertips over, close gently. Pepper the lids with soft butterfly kisses as though that alone could bring peace to them when they once again looked at her.

As though anything in her life were that easy.

Now it was 10:15 PM and instead of trudging her way home to kick her heels into a corner and slide into the nest of her couch she was hailing a cab. A cab that was taking her farther from the corner of Common Sense and quickly toward This Is A Spectacularly Bad Idea Ave. She leaned against the window and let the lights flash over her eyelids, the cabbie’s voice a drone in the background.

She was going to Frank.

She was just as damned as he was.

“This is fine,” She said, when the streetlights pulsed farther apart and they’d drifted from the main city streets and the busy chaos of Hell's Kitchen. She handed the driver a wad of cash and stepped out into cool night air, slinging her purse securely over her shoulder. “keep the change.”

The cab pulled from the curb, turned the corner and was gone. Karen turned and looked across a lawn badly in need of weeding toward the brown, nondescript rancher. There was nothing about the property to suggest that anyone lived there. It was a shady neighborhood where a woman like her was a walking invitation for violence, the type of neighborhood that had made the cabbie raise an eyebrow when she gave him the address. The porch sagged, the paint peeled. The sidewalk was riddled with cracks and broken glass.

It was more or less exactly the sort of place that Frank would chose to hole up.

He’d had the white picket fence, the American flag snapping in the breeze beside the beautiful porch swing complete with throw pillows and mason jars full of homemade lemonade. That was the Frank of Before, and this was how Karen compartmentalized him - the product of a single event. The Frank of After was an entirely different creature. One who had replaced lemonade and science fair projects with kevlar and high powered assault rifles.

_Right, then._ Resolutely, she squared her shoulders and started up the curb.

It occurred to Karen that she was nervous. It had been weeks since she’d seen Frank and truly, were she to stop and think about it, she had no idea what sort of reception she’d get tonight. She hadn’t thought any of this through, as was her usual reckless style. Bullheaded, Matt called her once. Maybe she needed those answers he still hadn’t given her, maybe she was sick of always being alone. Or maybe, were she to be completely honest with herself, she needed to feel that wave of peace that settled over her when she was with him. The peace and security she had wanted so badly from Matt but felt instead from a mass murderer.

She wondered if Frank would be angry that she knew where he lived.

At this thought she hesitated in her stride, her heels sinking into the lawn. The street was quiet now save for the angry barking of a dog in the distance. The house’s silence was deafening where it loomed before her. She should have asked the cabbie to wait. What if he wasn’t even here?

Up the lawn, she bypassed the porch and headed for the side entrance. The front door brought too much attention that neither of them needed. A flimsy curtain that looked more like a blanket hung in the small window, obscuring dim light within. _He’ll be here. He’ll understand._ She swallowed, her hand hovering in front of her, raised to knock. He would let her in, and he wouldn’t be angry with her, and he’d look at her with those eyes that made her feel something like kinship. He would, she told herself. She wasn’t afraid of Frank. Not Frank. Never.

So she knocked.

The low growl of a dog sounded from the other side of the door, followed by rustling and the unmistakable sound of a hammer cocking. Karen swallowed against the tight nerves in her throat. A hand pulled the curtain aside and there, there were those eyes, and she felt like she could breathe again.

After the sound of multiple bolts sliding the door creaked open halfway. “Karen, what the fuck?” Frank’s eyes darted around her as the arm holding the gun slowly lowered to his side. He ushered her in impatiently with the gun. “get in.”

He was shirtless, wearing threadbare sweatpants that hung low on his hips. A pit bull stood obediently at his side, eyeing Karen warily as she stood nervously in the doorway. Frank reached past her and slid the bolts home and she did not, _she did not_ lean unconsciously toward him like a hound smelling blood. “Barney, go to bed.” Frank commanded in a voice like gravel. The dog gave a short whine and trotted toward a sad looking pile of blankets in the kitchen.

“Alright,” clicking the safety on, Frank put the gun down on the kitchen counter and ran his hands over his face, up through his cropped hair. “what are you doing here, Karen? How did you find me?” A mess of bruises covered his entire body, a multicolored map, the story of After Frank. A story that had no conclusion. A vicious looking gash in his forehead had her fluttering her hands at her sides.

Karen considered her answer. He looked exhausted, like he could hardly hold himself up a moment longer.

“You look like shit.” She settled on.

He barked a laugh. “Truer words’ve never been spoken.” His eyes roamed her body, took it in - her work outfit. She hadn’t even gone home yet. Suddenly she felt self conscious.

“Can I come in?” She gestured toward the interior of the house.

“Why are you here, Karen?”

She twisted her hands, working a ring back and forth with her fingers. Looking down at her heels, wanting desperately to take them off. “I don’t know.” She said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “I didn’t want to go home. It’s so empty and quiet. You know what I mean?”

She winced inwardly at the look on his face. _Stupid, of course he does._ “Yeah. I think I know what you mean.” He sighed and turned from her, limped into the kitchen. Motioned to her with a wave over his shoulder.

“You’re hurt.” It was a statement. Karen shucked her heels and padded after him, her pantyhose a whisper on the cold linoleum. Around them house was organized chaos. A mix of takeout boxes, coffee cups and weaponry. Everywhere, there were guns. Open boxes of ammo spilling their contents haphazardly onto every surface available. Karen had never seen so many weapons in one place.

“M’fine.” He shrugged, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Black, just as he’d taken in the diner. The night he told her to get stay away from him. He opened a cabinet and took a mug down, waggled it in front of her with a raised brow.

“Please.” She said. Her eyes drifted over the house as he poured. The mess of it all made her think of a frat house minus the slobbiness of young boys - surfaces were clean, she imagined the bathroom would be too. The bed neatly made with tight hospital corners. Military training was made up of deeply ingrained habits, after all. There were no photos or cozy throw rugs, no personal items anywhere. Only firearms and a dog for company.

It was sad, but it was more than she had.

Frank handed her the coffee and leaned back against the counter with a slight wince.

“So, you still haven’t told me why you’re _really_ here, Ms.Page.” He blew gently on his coffee before taking a sip. He didn’t sound mad, not really. Just … reserved. She didn’t know which was worse.

“I just, I wanted to see you. OK?” She put her coffee down on the island to her right and stepped closer to him, watched his eyes dart over her face, the infinitesimal tensing of his shoulders. “You really do look awful. Let me take care of you.” She lifted a soggy carton of chinese, dropped it. “I mean, when’s the last time you ate a real meal?”

And there it was, the root of all of this. She cared for Frank more deeply than she cared to admit, more than she’d cared about anything in a long time. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, needing to mend his wounds, to try to understand him. Save him.

A lost cause if ever there were one.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” He said, voice hoarse. “I told you to stay away from me. Anyway, you told me I was d-- "

“Don’t.” Karen cut him off, her face twisted with the agony of those words. She steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lips, closed her eyes for a brief second. When she opened them she felt struck by the emotion in his. “I know what I said. But I’m here now. Matt shut me out. Don’t … don’t you shut me out too.”

Moments passed, the silence heavy in the small kitchen. Barney got up and trotted past them toward his water bowl, his nails clicking on the linoleum, water sloshing over the sides of the bowl as he lapped noisily at it. Karen tore her eyes from Frank and knelt, extending a hand. “Hey boy.” She said softly, smiling as he lifted his massive head and looked up at Frank.

“Watch out, she bites.” Frank murmured down at him.

Karen laughed. It was a sound she hadn’t heard herself make in weeks. Barney’s tail swished once, twice, and then he approached her and pushed his face into her palm. His fur was like velvet.

“He’s beautiful.”

Frank appraised her, watching as Barney happily shoved his bulk into her midsection, making her stagger backward for a moment. She steadied herself with a laugh.

“He likes you.”

Karen looked up at him and smiled shyly, hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. She stood and Barney pressing himself insistently against her legs. His jaws opened lazily and he panted, looked up at her adoringly.

Frank looked at her for a long moment, his eyes gentling.

“I’ll take the couch.”

_________________________________

And then, insanely, it was nearing midnight and Karen was standing in Frank Castle’s bathroom looking at herself in the chipped mirror. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else (it nearly came down to her knees) her blouse and pantyhose folded neatly on the counter, hair undone and falling in thick waves around her shoulders. She’d have raccoon eyes in the morning, no makeup remover here - soap was too harsh for her sensitive skin - but somehow she didn’t care. She didn’t care that her legs were so startlingly pale, that she didn’t have a toothbrush. These things seemed trivial when she considered that in moments, she’d be sliding between sheets that cradled a killer every night.

She’d tried to argue with him about taking the couch, but he was firm and wouldn’t budge. It didn’t surprise her, he was nothing if not a gentleman despite what the media went to great lengths to project. She knew by heart the way “ma’am” rolled off his tongue, his insistence at holding doors open. Paying for her coffee at the diner, making sure she’d put her seatbelt on. Please, thank you, yes ma’am.

The way he’d shielded her from a hail of bullets with his own body.

Her breath hitched as the memory came unbidden. That seemed so long ago now. She relieved it nearly every night and the dream always started the same. Soft thuds from the hallway and then Frank’s hulking form appearing in the doorway. Everything the same down to the cool steel gripped in her hands, pointed right at him. Frank’s lips moving, trying to tell her - _it wasn’t me_ \- but all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. No words, not a sound.

“Hey?” Frank rapped softly on the door. “everything alright?”

She blinked at her reflection, shook her thoughts loose. “Fine, thanks.” After splashing some water on her face and running her fingers through her hair, she opened the door and stepped out into the living room.

Could it be called a living room? She didn’t imagine that much living was done in here, in this house at all. What Frank did was survive. Eat, sleep, use the bathroom. This place was a shell, a cave. A place to drag himself back to to lick his wounds and clean his guns.

Not that her home was any different. Let the mail pile up, water the plants when she remembered. Fixate on mounting bills, her job, how alone she felt in this massive city. These days, wake up in a sweat with his name on her lips and the memory of his body covering hers on glass covered carpet.

“You make strong coffee.” She said into the air. The only light was above the stove, seeming so dim and far away. Frank emerged from his bedroom with a pillow and a blanket. He walked past her and tossed them onto the worn leather couch.

“Sorry, habit.” He shot her a sliver of a smile. She suddenly felt exposed, goosebumps rising on her arms and legs. She tugged on the bottom of the t-shirt.

“I’m gonna be awake for hours. Usually drink wine before bed.” She laughed, but it petered out quickly. “At least I’ve got company now.”

Something unreadable flashed in his eyes but it vanished before she could catch it. “I don’t sleep much.” He looked at his feet, past her into the bathroom. Anywhere but her eyes. “Usually busy.”

And there it was - the elephant in the room, unmistakable and massive, filling every crack and crevice. It would no longer be pushed to the side with chit chat and banal remarks about coffee. Frank was the Punisher. A wanted man with an extremely colorful criminal record. Every cop in town wanted his head on a pole, every low life scumbag knew his name. She could very well be endangering herself by being here, though she couldn’t picture anyone better to protect her person.

Karen hugged her arms to her chest. “I know I have no right barging in on your life like this. I know you’re … busy.” She swallowed and took a few steps closer to him, the warmth from the stove light bathing her skin in a warm glow. “I know what I said, but I think you believe me now when I tell you that I take it back.”

“This ain’t grade school, Karen. Life doesn’t give out take backs. Trust me, I know.”

They were nearly touching now, standing inches apart. She had to look up to catch his eyes.

“I know.” She whispered. “But I do. I take it back. I can’t,” and here she faltered, terrified to fuck this up with sentimentality and cheesy bullshit but the truth was something she always told. “I can’t stay away from you. I know you told me to, but I can’t.”

His face was twisted in pain, and when he spoke it took him a moment. _“Why?”_

She answered without hesitation. “Because you make me feel safer than anyone else in my life.”

For a long, awful moment she was certain that she’d said too much. Maybe she’d read more into their chemistry than he did. Her track record of over analyzing was certainly embarrassing and responsible, she was sure, for more than a few failed relationships. Here she was making herself at home in one of his t-shirts, imposing herself into his life and his routine, no warning. Never wondering about his privacy, never considering that maybe he faced his demons in a way that didn’t involve gunfire, but quietly and behind closed doors.

She was about to turn back to the bathroom to scoop the ridiculous t-shirt off and dress quickly, apologies already forming on her tongue when Frank reached out and gathered her to him. Her breath caught and for a moment her arms hovered in the air beside them, unsure. He was so _warm._ A solid mass of muscle. She exhaled and brought her arms up around him, her fingers barely touching across the wide expanse of his back.

He smelled like oil and leather. Cigarettes and gunpowder.

“Good.” he murmured into her hair. She swore he sounded relieved. “That’s good. You never have to be scared of anything. Not anymore.”

In his arms, she stilled. Her pulse throbbing wildly as she hung on his next words.

“Not as long as you’re with me.”

__________________________________________________

As if she were a child needing to be tucked in, Frank led her into his bedroom. She made out the bed, surprised when it wasn’t simply a mattress on the floor. A plain white headboard held only a single lamp. No books or keepsakes, nothing to run her hands over in the dark once he was asleep and she was free to imagine.

“Barney’ll probably try to worm his way up here. He sleeps with me.” He said. She noticed that he lingered in the doorway, his feet firmly on the line where the carpet began.

_Please, Thank You, Yes ma’am._ She smiled. “I don’t mind. I love dogs.”

“He snores.”

“I’m sure you do too.”

His head was haloed from the weak light of the kitchen, obscuring his face, but she heard a grin in his words. “Well, if I do, my apologies.” After a beat he rubbed his hands together and took a step back. “You want me to leave the door open, or...?”

She ducked her head. “Actually, I was hoping you’d stay with me. Just until I fall asleep.”

It shouldn’t have sounded as ridiculous as it came out. Frank had been a father - there must have been many a night when he had to shoo away monsters. Karen’s demons weren’t under the bed or in the closet but they were the type she imagined Frank was well acquainted with. The kind that couldn’t be silenced with any amount of ammunition.

“I don’t mean. You can just…” she paused, feeling a blush spreading over her chest. “I don’t care what you do. You can read, or--or organize your guns or whatever it is you do at this time of night I just don’t want to--” she felt a sob building in her chest and felt hot, angry betrayal at her body.

“Hey,” Frank stepped into the room, guiding her until her legs hit the edge of the mattress. His big warm hands gripped her arms reassuringly. “I get it.” He lifted the covers and she blindly felt her way under, tucking her knees to her chest. She pulled the blankets until they were tight under her chin. Everywhere, she could smell him.

She peered up at him, a sliver of streetlight from the crack in the blinds shining across his face like an angry scar.

“You’ll stay? Until I’m asleep?”

_I wasn’t always this weak. Would you believe that?_

“I will.”

“You promise?”

“I always keep my promises.”

And that was how Karen Page found herself in Frank Castle’s bed, falling slowly into the first peaceful sleep in weeks as he sat beside her, atop the covers, cleaning an M1911 pistol by the light of a reading lamp. It should have been fucked up, it was incredibly and hilariously fucked up, but the monsters sulked in their shadows and paced back and forth like wolves at the edges of her dreams, never coming in for the kill.

Karen wasn’t afraid of Frank, but they were.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a lot of money.

Karen stared down at the wad of bills on the counter, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. The money was held down by a drinking glass and under that, a single sheet of unlined note paper that simply read _‘for whatever you need’._

She cocked an eyebrow. What did Frank think she needed? A Coach bag? A pair of Jimmy Choos?

Frank didn’t operate like normal people. He didn’t wake up to an alarm, hit snooze three times and lament about his nine to five. He didn’t have a commute or cubicle or a favorite barista who handed him the same order every morning with a smile. This money had blood on it. Figuratively, not literally, though Karen wouldn’t deny that the possibility had briefly entered her mind.

Perhaps most alarmingly, she didn’t really mind that possibility.

She wrinkled her nose as she contemplated the cash. The money should have insulted her - could have made her feel like a prostitute, or at the very least, a problem he felt he needed to atone for. _Can’t tell her to leave, maybe this’ll lessen my guilt._ But she didn’t feel any of that. Instead, as her eyes glided over his penmanship (scratchy, deep, so _Frank_ ) all she felt was touched. 

Frank thought she might need something and he wanted to make sure she had enough for whatever it might be. It wasn’t posturing. It was thoughtfulness.

Barney trotted into the kitchen beside her and nudged his head against her thigh. His tail wagged happily as she reached down and stroked his ears. He looked up at her as if to say; “So, you gonna take that or what?”

She reached for the bills and gathered them up, thumbing through them quickly. After a pause, she slid a few of them into her wallet, leaving the rest beside the note. Her fingers traced the outline of his words.

_For whatever you need._

What would he say if she said she needed him?

She sighed. “What do you think, Barney? You’re probably alone a lot, huh?” She put her mug down and knelt beside him. “Bet you don’t go for walks very often.”

At the word ‘walk’, Barney’s ears perked forward and he cocked his head, his tail increasing in speed. Karen laughed. She’d snooped shamelessly around the house upon awakening, the covers rumpled where Frank had sat beside her (she wondered how long he’d stayed). There was a tennis ball that had seen much better days at the edge of the couch and a leash hanging beside a set of keys by the door.

“How about that, huh? You think we should go for a walk?”

Barney play-bowed and barked loudly.

“Ok ok, you have to be a good boy though. We’re going to go to my house first.”

___________

Barney proved to be an excellent passenger. Despite the cab drivers initial hesitation, she simply had to slide in and pat the seat next to her with a firm; “Sit, Barney.” He’d hopped right in, his whip of a tail beating out a steady _whump whump whump_ on the leather. After the cab pulled away from the curb he relaxed and slumped against the door, content to watch the world go by through the window. Karen stroked his fur and tried not to think about the fact that she’d just hijacked Frank Castle’s dog.

When they arrived at her apartment she clipped the leash to his collar, paid the cabbie and led him up the short walk to her door. He sniffed eagerly at everything, head twisting this way and that, tail held high. She had to admit that the undeserved reputation that came with pit bulls wasn’t entirely a bad thing - creepy men were much less likely to harass her on the streets. After the horrible episode in her apartment, Barney lent her the same sense of security that she felt from Frank. It wasn’t surprising that Barney matched his owner in many ways. She smiled to herself as she slid her key into the lock, imagining Frank in front of the TV with a Chihuahua in his lap.

“We’ll only be here for a bit.” She gave him a quick pat and unhooked his leash, opening the door. He waltzed in with no hesitation and went straight for her bedroom, head down, sniffing. “Need to grab some clothes and a toothbrush.”

As she walked through her small apartment she was struck by the absurdity of the situation. Had they agreed that she would spend another night? How many nights _was_ she planning on spending at Frank's anyway? She’d been exhausted last night and hardly remembered him even settling onto the bed beside her, much less a conversation. Which was disappointing, as she’d wanted to savor the feeling of him in the darkness, so close to her, for as long as she could.

Well. The note had said _‘for whatever you need’_ not, _‘go home’._

In her bedroom, she slid open the first drawer of her dresser. She held up her cutest pair of pajamas and imagined herself stepping out of his bathroom in them. Immediately a flush spread across her chest. She’d picked them up at a Victoria’s Secret on a whim and they were so completely and totally out of her comfort zone--screaming _FUCK ME_ loud and clear. It might have been the signal she wanted to broadcast, but at the same time she couldn’t imagine doing so. Frank was a deeply wounded man. She was a professional.

A professional at bullshitting herself.

With a sigh she laid them back in the drawer and chose a cute but innocuous tank top and yoga pants instead.

Barney hopped up on her couch and watched her as she paced back and forth, stuffing random items hastily into a duffel bag. He tilted his head as she spoke quietly to her plants while watering them (maybe she’d be gone a while…) and perked up his ears when she opened the fridge.

“Every dog knows that noise, huh?” Karen laughed as she unwrapped a block of cheese. She tossed him a slice and leaned back against the counter to eat her own, laughing as he swallowed his without a single bite. He thumped his tail against the linoleum.

“Ok, time to go pee on stuff.” She chugged a glass of water and placed the cup in the sink, looked around the apartment one last time and picked up his leash. Barney whuffed happily.

_________

It was strange to come back to his place alone.

Karen backed her way through the door, Barney running ahead of her. She had no idea how the dog had any energy left to speak of after throwing the tennis ball as far as she could for him for over an hour. Arms laden with bags, she maneuvered carefully toward the kitchen island while he pranced around her legs. With a groan she set them down and started to unpack the items, her purse and overnight bag dropped at her feet.

“Ok Barney. Let’s see what we got.”

There were two grocery bags from Whole Foods that contained items that she guessed had never seen the inside of Frank’s fridge. The guy couldn’t live on protein shakes and instant noodles. How he maintained his incredible physique and fitness level on such a poor diet confounded her. Opening the fridge, she started to fill it with vegetables and fruit. Milk, yogurt, and granola followed. A six pack of Budweiser was thoughtfully placed inside as well--a detail she hoped would liven it up and put a grin on his face.

The fridge filled, she turned to the third bag. Some of her own cleaning products from home had come with her, along with some she’d needed to buy. Frank’s house wasn’t dirty, but she wasn’t going to spend the entire time he was gone sitting on her ass. She needed a job, something to do. A way to get her hands dirty. Karen didn’t sit around.

She was ignoring her cell phone, texts from Foggy and Matt. There were two missed calls, one of them from work. She’d guiltily shoved her phone into the depths of her purse after seeing it as though she could pretend she hadn’t.

“Besides,” she said to herself, filling the sink with hot water. “It’s the least I can do.”

Barney sat at her feet, cocking his head. She looked down at him and bit nervously at a thumbnail.

“You don’t think he’ll mind, do you?”

Another head tilt. _For whatever you need._

Frank needed things too.

________

It was close to 9pm when Karen heard the key slide into the lock.

Barney flew from the couch beside her, running to the door and spinning madly in circles, his tail a formidable whip that struck everything within distance with a sharp smack. He barked and danced, his claws noisy on the linoleum.

Karen stood up from the couch and nervously smoothed her hands over her top, down the fronts of her thighs. Tendrils of loose hair hung in front of her ears and she pushed them back.

The door swung open and Frank stepped inside. “Quiet, buddy. Shhh.” he closed the door and slumped back against it, pushing feebly at Barney who leaped against him and mashed his head against Frank’s stomach. Karen could see the way he flinched from Barney, trying hard to disguise it by turning his body from her. “You big idiot.”

Karen walked over to them. “Barney, down!” She ordered firmly. He relented with a whine, his tail still whipping frantically.

Her eyes travelled over him. She’d spent the last hour preparing herself for what he’d look like when he came back, but the already darkening bruise that blossomed afresh under his right eye still made her cringe. It hadn’t been an easy night. Absurdly, the words _‘you should see the other guy’_ flashed through her mind and she felt a sickening laugh threatening to bubble up.

His warm brown eyes met hers and she was surprised and happy to see them crinkling at the corners with an exhausted smile.

“He listens to you already. Shit. You buy a copy of that Cesar Milan book with the cash I left you or what?”

Karen laughed. “No, that man is _so mean_ to dogs. You ever see his show?” She scoffed, looking affectionately at Barney. “I guess I’ve always had a way with dogs. He’s a good boy.”

Frank pushed off from the door and it was then that Karen saw the way he held himself; his thick chest bent in on himself slightly, a slight favoring of his right side. Barney stood up from his sit and nosed at Frank’s pant leg, his suede nose pushing deep into the fabric. A long, thin whine crawled up from his throat and his tail hung low.

“Frank, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“What’s that smell?” Frank stood in the middle of the kitchen. Karen could hear the surprise and hunger in his voice, though it was slightly masked by his labored breathing. She came up behind him and touched him gently on the arm of his jacket. “I made dinner.”

He turned toward her, looked down at where her hand rested on his arm. Looked back at her.

“No shit?”

She made a face. “Yes, Frank. Some of us need more than coffee and Chef Boyardee to survive.”

Frank coughed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothing wrong with Chef Boyardee, _Miss Page.”_ he glanced over at the small table by the window, the only one in the house, and finally noticed the two plate settings. “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“I have, it’s completely disgusting. That’s not even meat.” She tried to hide the mounting impatience from her voice. “But Frank, seriously. What’s wrong? Did you--” she swallowed. “Did you get stabbed or something? Fall off a roof?”

“Shot, actually.”

_“Frank!”_

He closed his eyes and winced as Karen’s shriek filled the kitchen. “Just the shoulder, it’s not bad. I’m hardly even bleeding, look.” He began to shrug out of his trench coat, gingerly at first, and Karen moved to help him.

“Jesus, Frank, _shot?_ When? And how can you be so nonchalant about it?” The coat fell heavily to the floor and Karen kicked it out of the way, drawing in a quiet gasp as her hand came away with blood.

Frank sighed. “It’s superficial, Karen. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

She was turning him, one hand on his arm and the other at the small of his back. She stood on her tiptoes to look at the wound. He was right - it wasn’t bad. One glance was all it took to see that it was small, a clean exit wound.

Still.

When he turned back to her she set her jaw and levelled her best no-bullshit glare at him. “We need to take care of this.”

“I know. Done it before. Just need to clean it. Some hot water, flush it out--clotting agent ‘n some packing gauze. Bandage ‘er up and she’s good to go.”

“And how were you going to do this by yourself? Wait, you know what?” She held her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t want to know. Get that shirt off, I’m grabbing a chair.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” Karen walked around the island and picked up a chair from the table. Frank swore under his breath as he maneuvered his arm carefully out of the shirt and pulled it over his head. The sight of a single trail of blood running down his chest and over his abdomen made something constrict in Karen’s chest. She placed the chair down in front of him and gestured to it, rolling up her sleeves and going to the sink.

“Place looks amazing.” Frank sat down heavily in the chair and crossed his arms over the back of it. His eyes drifted over the counter tops, took in the state of the place for the first time. The ammo boxes were stacked neatly, the floor shone. All the take out containers were gone and replaced with small, homey details. A dish towel, a rug in front of the stove. “Hasn’t been this clean since, well…”

“Ever?” Karen offered, pumping soap into her hands and scrubbing them under hot water.

“Pretty much.”

Drying her hands with the dish towel, Karen asked; “Supplies in the bathroom cabinet?”

“Yeah. Karen?”

Paused at the sink, chewing on her bottom lip, she looked at him. “Yes?”

“You alright? I can do this myself you know. You don’t have to--you seem nervous.”

She pushed out a heavy breath. “It’s not my first rodeo either.”

“Well shit, girl.” A small grin touched the corners of his mouth. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She returned moments later with a handful of supplies. There had indeed been a full array to choose from, which made sense when you considered Frank’s ‘occupation’. Gauze, rubbing alcohol, bandages, medical tape, scissors, and little brown packages of QuikClot hemostatic agent. He nodded approvingly as she arranged it all on the island, then jerked his chin past her at the fridge.

“Cabinet on the left, top shelf. Should be a bottle of JD.”

Sure enough, there was. Karen took it down and unscrewed the cap, taking a generous swig for herself before handing it to Frank, who chuckled at the look on her face. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’m used to wine.” She shrugged, grimacing. “Alright, let’s get this done.”

For a while, it was quiet. Barney watched the two of them with rapt attention, his face resting on his front paws, as close to Frank’s feet as he could get. It had started to rain and soon the only noise in the kitchen was the steady patter of it against the windows and the occasional sloshing from the bottle as Frank lifted it to his lips and swallowed. In a way, it was almost soothing, and if she concentrated hard enough she could almost forget _why_ Frank had a gunshot wound in his shoulder. If she focused only on the task at hand, the systematic patching up of this man she cared so much about-- _it was just a tussle during a game of good ‘ol pigskin with their neighbours!_ \--she could pretend that this was normal. That she hadn’t spent all day in denial, on her hands and knees scrubbing away at the floor as though she were trying to wash away the truth.

Almost.

“There.” Karen said softly. It was done, and she’d done a bang up job if she did say so herself. Barney got up from the floor and laid his head on Frank’s lap, sniffing along his skin. Seemingly satisfied, he let out a soft whuff and trotted from the kitchen to the couch. With a warm cloth she gently wiped away the last of the blood from his tanned, scarred skin, letting her fingers linger a second longer than was normal.

“Thank you. Couldn’t have done it better myself.” Frank said as he looked down at his shoulder, rotating it carefully. She watched the muscles rolling and flexing under his skin and looked down at her hands, at the bloody washcloth in them. She blushed and shrugged.

“You should probably take some Acetaminophen. It’ll help with the inflammation. I’ll go get--”

“Hey.” Frank stopped her with a hand to her arm. His grip was gentle but firm, his eyes open and warm as he looked up at her. Slowly, he pulled her toward him; she went with little resistance. His mouth opened to say something but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He closed it, opened it again. Sighed and shook his head.

“Shit, Karen. What you did today. This.” he gestured around the house, nodding toward the table with the food growing cold on it. “Patchin’ me up like this when you don’t have to, shouldn’t have to. Cleaning the place as good as you did. I mean, you bought a damn _rug.”_

“It was on sale.” She looked down at her feet.

He hung his head, laughed short and angry. “Left you here all day, didn’t tell you shit. Come back like this. You’re so good, Karen. Everything you do is good. You just want to help people, and I k--”

“No.” she stopped him with two fingers to his lips. If she could stop the words from coming out, then maybe she wouldn’t have to face the truth of it. The terrifying truth that despite knowing that Frank killed people, killed _lot’s_ of people, she didn’t care.

She didn’t.

_You were never in any danger._

His lips were like fire against her fingertips. She moved her hand to cup his cheek, and her stomach clenched as he turned his face into it, his brow furrowed and his eyes shut tight, his entire body on the brink of collapsing in on itself. Like an abused dog.

His next words came thick with emotion. “You cooked me _dinner._ The last time anyone cooked for me...was…”

Strong, thick forearms came up around her waist and pulled her to him, flush against the chair. Frank pressed his face into the softness of her stomach and Karen felt all the air sucked out of the room, felt a roaring in her ears that made the rain on the windowpane rise to a crescendo of thunder. He held on to her and shook quietly, raw and open and vulnerable, and she battled the fluttering in her stomach against the clenching of her heart; so touched that this broken shell of a man trusted her to hold him in his despair.

Her hands came up and held his head to her, threading her fingers softly through his cropped hair. She was surprised at it’s softness. Her shirt had ridden up, exposing a two inch gap of skin that he tickled with his stubble as he shifted his face. The sensation shot like electricity through her.

After a long moment, she spoke. “Of course I cooked you dinner. It was the least I could do.”

“Why?”

“You make me feel safe, let me stay here. You kept the nightmares away.”

His arms tightened around her. “I _am_ the nightmare.”

“No,” she shook her head emphatically, though he couldn’t see. Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

“Karen…” Frank whispered against her skin, every movement of his lips a jolt that stirred a warm pool low in her belly. Her whole body tensed, her heart a trapped beast in her ribcage. “I can’t--I don’t. Don’t deserve…”

“Yes you do.” Her voice was hardly more than whisper.

She held her breath as his hands moved from encircling her and slid slowly across her lower back and hips, running under the lip of her top, setting her skin aflame. Slowly, so slowly, his thumbs pushed the hem of her top up and he tilted his head, pressing the softest of kisses to her hip. Her fingers clutched at him as he nudged her shirt up higher with his nose, dragging his lips up her belly, parting them just enough to nip at the delicate skin.

Her skin danced, twitched under his ministrations. He held his entire body still as stone, his breath suddenly ragged and fast against her navel. Slowly, he looked up at her. The question in his eyes was unmistakable. Her answer came fast and true.

“Please.” It was breathy, needy.

She probably sounded pathetic.

She found she didn’t care.

Like a dam breaking, Frank rose from the chair and shoved it aside, catching her up in his arms and slanting his mouth against hers. He licked into her mouth, his tongue sliding its way inside, pushing against hers when he found it. His bottom lip was full and soft and she bit into it like a peach, pulling it into her own mouth. It made a growl reverberate through his chest. They kissed like teenagers, sloppy and fast, no finesse. It was the hottest kiss Karen had ever had in her life.

He bent and clasped his hands under her ass, lifted her off the floor with ease. She hooked her ankles around his lower back, gasped when he turned and blindly threw an arm out, knocking the stacked ammo boxes off the island with a sweep. They clattered to the floor, the bullets spilling from the boxes, rolling under the stove, the fridge. He set her down in their place, his arms roving up her back, pulling her shirt up with them.

“Frank.” She panted, pulling her top over her head and flinging it away, her hair askew around her face. He unhooked her bra on the first try. The cool air hit her skin and her nipples swelled, puckered. Reverently, he ran his hands up her stomach, brushed the tips of his fingers across the undersides of her breasts.

“You’re gorgeous.” He breathed. His voice was smoke and whisky.

The flush that spread across her chest rose all the way to her ears. He grinned, lopsided and boyish and all at once achingly handsome.

Karen tugged on him with her ankles, pulling him closer against her with the strength of her legs, desperate for him, but he wouldn’t be controlled. He placed his hands on her hips and bent his lips to her neck, nudging the curtain of hair aside, nipping along the line of her pulse. Strong, warm hands squeezed her hips and he licked a long stripe up to her ear, where he whispered; “Ain’t gonna rush this.”

Then he was kneeling, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. Her ass teetered at the edge and she tensed, her heart leaping into her throat as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and slowly pulled them down. She lifted her hips, helping him, thanking God that she’d at least chosen cute underwear today. Sliding them off her feet, he dropped them to the floor and ran his hands slowly up her calves, her thighs, until he reached the white cotton.

He paused, brushed his thumb over the pink bow. His chest heaved, whole body taut with restraint. She couldn’t remember the last time a man looked at her like this. When he spoke his voice was husky. “White panties, Miss Page? So naughty.”

Holding her with his eyes, he bent down and gripped the bow with his teeth, pulled back and let it go with a snap. She jerked and let out a small cry.

“Frank, oh my god.” She turned and pressed her face into her shoulder.

He knelt back again, chuckling softly. “Shhh, babe. I’ve got you.” He pressed small kisses up the inside of her legs, one hand drifting to her ankle, her foot warm in his palm, the other sliding up her thigh. He shifted closer on his knees as his fingers stopped at her cunt, the fabric dark with her arousal.

He leaned in, slid his nose up the seam of her. Her head fell back, hands curling into fists against the cool countertop.

“Please, please. _Frank.”_ He curled his fingers around the edge of her panties, pulled them to the side. His tongue was a white hot heat. He splayed a hand over her stomach, pushed her back gently. She dug her feet into his back, slid one up to his good shoulder and clenched her toes into the skin there. He hummed into her, one finger and then two sliding inside, setting a steady rhythm.

_“Fuck,_ you taste good.” He murmured, licking tiny circles around her clit, drawing it slowly into his mouth. “knew you would.” And this was what set her off--she cried out sharply and arched her back off the counter, grabbing his head with one hand for leverage and grinding herself shamelessly against his face.

“Yes, yes, like that. There!”

He half groaned, half gasped against her thigh. “That’s it.” He rose up on his knees, angling his wrist, watched her writhing in front of him. A twist of his fingers inside of her and her jaw went slack, a slow keening rising from her pale throat. “Come for me.”

She did. Fiercely. Her orgasm was quick and brutal, lifting her up, up--she lurched upright and held his head against her, thighs quaking, his arms wrapped around her--before dropping her back to reality. She was hardly aware of him rising to his feet before he was dipping his face to her chest, licking sweat from her clavicles.

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers. Licked the taste of herself from his mouth, tiny spasms travelling through her belly. He was a warm, solid weight against her.

“Frank, you need to fuck me.” She nipped at his jaw, his chin. In response he gently curled a finger inside her, drawing a tiny gasp from her that he swallowed greedily. She pushed against him with one hand, sitting up, following his body with her hands at his belt. He watched her with eyes blown dark with lust.

She didn’t even have time to register shock at the fact that Frank Castle went commando--a tidbit that she would _definitely_ summon for use in the future--before he’d kicked his jeans and socks off into a corner, scattering bullets in every direction. His cock was beautiful; long and thick. A drop of precum leaked from the tip and she licked her lips, felt her legs falling open at the sight of it.

He loomed over her, his hands braced on the countertop aside her hips. She felt his sudden hesitation.

“It’s alright,” she breathed against his ear, “I’m on the pill.”

It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t romantic. It didn’t matter. He turned to her and sucked at her throat, bruising and just shy of painful as he guided himself inside with one hand.

“Jesus christ, Karen.” He bit out, shuddering against her. She gripped his ass with one hand, encouraging. Wrapped her free arm around his neck and moved with him, against him, on him. His hips jerked and he moaned into the waterfall of her hair.

He laid her out on the counter and leaned over her, bending her toward him like a bowstring, his mouth finding her breasts and nipping tiny circles around her nipples. He soothed the bites with his tongue, soft and flat, then drew them into his mouth and suckled gently at them. His thrusts were shallow and slow, maddening, a rhythm that doled out exquisite pleasure.

It was too much and not enough. “Frank, c’mon.” She played her own game; drawing him to her with her ankles hooked at his back, clenching herself around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and swore, half laughing, half groaning.

“So greedy.”

Sweaty and flushed, her hair sticking in frizzy strands to her forehead, she bit her lip and grinned at him. “Mmhmm.”

Languidly, he pulled from her and snapped his hips back with enough force to push her an inch up the counter. She gasped. Then he was bending and wrapping his arms around her back and hauling her upright with him, never withdrawing from her heat. Three steps and he was across the kitchen, slamming her against the fridge. She heard the contents rattle alarmingly; something inside fell over.

Frank brought his lips to her ear. “This how you want it?” He was trying to sound like a man with the upper hand--a tease. Instead, his voice was hoarse with lust. His control teetered on the knife's edge.

_Oh lord._ She made a sound that she was completely ashamed of. _“Yes._ Just like this. Please Frank.”

She felt him smile against her throat. “Yes ma’am.”

Wounded and running on no sleep, Frank was still a man possessed, his strength a marvel. Later, Karen would question her judgement on the lovebites, the way she encouraged the punishing set of his fingers against her hips and ribs--no, no gentleness, _claim me_ \--and her choice of words as she drew her nails down his already marred back. She would admire his marks with a fierce and shameful pride in the mirror tomorrow morning, her fingers tracing the circles, their image eliciting memories she would never forget.

But now, right now. They were two sorely troubled people, desperate and raw and finding solace in one another. It was his sweat mingling with hers, their bodies slapping wetly against one another, breath sharp in the small kitchen. She bent her arm and held tight to the top of the fridge with one hand, the other clutching at his neck. At one point they held eye contact and it was too much; her chest ached with it. He pressed his face against her throat and cried out, thrusting hard into her, once, twice. She dimly realized that she’d been shouting his name. A shudder ran through his body and then he was turning her with him and sliding down against the fridge.

They collapsed on the floor, two bodies ringed by bullets. Karen would have laughed at the perfection of it if she’d had the strength. Was this her life? Cradled in the lap of a killer, his cock going soft within her, the bandage covering his gunshot wound already darkening with fresh blood? She nudged a bullet away with her toe and sighed into him.

If it was, she was OK with it.

________

Frank’s bed was a different creature with his body warm and naked beside her.

She studied the planes of his face in the moonlight, the slight breeze from the open window stirring a curl of his hair. When he slept, all the lines of him finally relaxed and you could almost see the peaceful, happy man he’d been. A husband who woke his wife up with lazy kisses, a father who made pancakes in silly shapes.

Karen pushed down a wave of sadness as she reached out and gently ran a thumb across his cheek. He stirred, opened one eye. She smiled shyly.

“Hey.” she whispered.

He took her hand in his and turned it, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, lips lingering on the delicate skin there. A deeply satisfied hum preceded his smile. Reaching out, he brushed some hair from her forehead.

“You ok?” His fingers went to her throat, lingering over the lovebite. He had the decency to look slightly abashed. “Kinda gave you a hickey.”

She pressed her face into the pillow and groaned, laughing. “You’re just lucky I have an extensive collection of scarves.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” He grinned. “So I’ll get to see a different one every day while that heals is what you’re saying.”

Her stomach flipped, the magnitude of his words not lost on her. Every day. He wanted to see her _every day._ “If you want.” She bit her lip and struggled not to break out into a huge smile. “What’s your favorite color?”

He replied by kissing her, slow and deep, cupping her jaw and tilting it. She sighed into his mouth, felt him stir at her hip. An ache throbbed in response inside her.

“Well, I’m partial to white, Miss Page.” he murmured into her neck. She giggled.

“White isn’t a color.”

“Smartass.”

Outside the rain had started up again. Droplets of it hit the windowsill and collected there, the air humid and warm. For a while neither of them said anything - they filled the quiet with kisses, gentle touches. Sighs and limbs shifting under the bedsheets, rain pattering insistently against glass. Images of years of Sunday mornings with this man flashed through Karen’s mind and she was deeply and shamefully jealous of the woman who’d shared them with him.

Then from the kitchen, Karen’s phone beeped an alarm from her purse, signalling 6am. It continued for six beats while they looked at each other.

Work.

Frank slid an arm around her hip and tugged her gently to him, curling her body to the heat of his chest. From the cocoon of his arms with her head tucked under his chin, she couldn’t recall a single time in her life that she’d ever felt as safe. Her hands gripped him back tightly.

“Stay.” It was so quiet. Hesitant, hopeful.

She remembered the hospital room, the red tape surrounding his bed. Remembered stepping over it without fear, feeling sympathy swell within her when he trained those brimming eyes on her. The way that word had sounded coming from him--stay--and the resounding conviction in her answer.

_All of them, they think that you’re a monster. But you’re not. You’re not._

_You sure about that?_

She was sure, and she would stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all -so much- for your wonderful reviews! This ship has consumed me and you can probably expect more of Kastle from me in the future. Thank you for reading :)


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